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Former longtime public servant Leon Williams, San Diego’s first black city councilman and the county’s first — and so far only — black supervisor, hit another milestone Saturday.

He turned 90.

The occasion seemed like a good excuse to ask the always well-spoken and loquacious Williams the secret of a long life. Who wouldn’t want to know that?

Before I get to it, though, let’s review some of the things Williams championed during 37 years in office. He was an early advocate of needle-exchange programs to combat AIDS and of freeway call boxes to help drivers stranded in a pre-cellphone world. He helped create the public defender’s office and tougher smoking laws. He pushed for community policing, smart growth and better transit options.

In short, he fought for the little guy.

When Williams retired in 2006 after stints on the City Council, the county Board of Supervisors and the Metropolitan Transit System’s board of directors, civic life lost a dose of dignity.

For one, it lacked a servant who looked so good in a fedora. Politicians joke that few others could pull off a hat like Williams.

Developer William Jones, who succeeded Williams on the council, once told a reporter that his mentor had probably influenced more lives than any single elected official in the San Diego region.

That reporter, The San Diego Union-Tribune’s Jeff Ristine, wrote: “There’s an if-only-they’d-listened quality to some of Williams’ memories of his council years.”

Many people did listen, of course. But Ristine’s line takes on more meaning now that Williams has lived longer than most do.

So, what is the secret of a long life? It’s not a surprise, really.

For Williams, it’s been eating healthy, smoking nothing more than an occasional pipe years ago and never — literally, never — being drunk.

Here’s what he said about his days with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers: “In World War II, they gave you an allotment of beer and you could have cigarettes. I always gave them to the other guys. Somebody was always asking for them.”

Less in our control, good genes are also a plus. Williams’ own father lived to be nearly 100 and was coherent until the end. He spoke to his son the night before he died and told Williams that was it.

The story goes like this:

“He said, ‘Well, son, I’m going to leave.’ And I said, ‘What are you talking about? You’re going to leave? We’re coming up there to see you tomorrow.’ He said, ‘I’m not going to be here tomorrow.’ He was just as rationale as you and I are right now and just as calm.

“He knew, and he said so.”

Williams never asked his dad, an Oklahoma farmer who moved his family to Bakersfield to escape the Dust Bowl in 1936 and fathered 15 children in all, what the secret to a long life was. But Williams gave an answer when I asked what it might have been.